Partner on the Mend
by Evening Rain
Summary: AU. What should have happened after Wanna Be In The Weeds. A little overdone, I know, but it's cute and fluffy. Focus on Booth and Bones friendships, hints of romance.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

_The scene I would have liked to see after Wanna Be In The Weeds...a little overdone, I know, but I just couldn't resist. Hope you enjoy!_

* * *

There were hushed voices. And beeping machines. And that truly unique smell of antiseptic, latex, and metal. Hmm…he was pretty sure he'd seen this one before…

Seeley Booth cracked his eyes open slowly, squinting against the bright light shining overhead. Blearily taking in his surroundings, he frowned at the pain in his chest and the heaviness of his limbs.

'_Yup, definitely been abducted by aliens_,' a sad voice lamented in his head, '_strapped us down and shoving hot pokers into our shoulder…_'

'_Wait…_' He blinked in confusion, something about that explanation not sitting quite right with the rational part of his brain. Doing another quick scan of his surroundings, his eyes narrowed suspiciously on the culprit: a healthy IV of morphine that traveled down to his right arm.

'_Alright then, __**not**__ aliens_,' his drugged-mind amended grudgingly, "_Hospital…with doctors that could __**potentially**__ be aliens_.' His eyes narrowed again for a moment, but then he sighed and decided to compromise with the morphine. It _was_ being very nice to his shoulder, after all...

"Agent Booth?" The voice pulled him further from his painkiller cloud, and he was finally able to focus on the faces in the room around him. Scrunching his eyebrows in confusion, he closed his eyes warily as the memories began to flood back.

Suddenly, they snapped back open, and he tried vainly to sit up, ignoring the pain that ripped through is shoulder in response. "Bones!" He called urgently, surprised when the name came out as nothing but a soft croak from his dry throat.

A strong set of hands pushed him back into the bed firmly but gently, and his eyes met the worried gaze of Deputy Director Cullen hovering above him. "Relax Booth, your partner is fine, thanks to you," he assured, and Booth immediately allowed the tension to flow out of his limps, collapsing weakly back to his hospital bed with a sigh of relief.

"The shooter?" He rasped.

"Killed at the scene." A short silence, then, "By Dr. Brennan."

Brown eyes glanced up in surprise, but Cullen just shook his head. "Self defense," he assured quickly, pressing a cup of ice chips into the agent's heavy hands, and helping him take the first scoop.

The cool ice felt like heaven as it melted down his raw throat, and Booth closed his eyes for a moment to savor the feeling.

"Everyone else?" He asked quietly, his voice sounds a little more normal as he managed a second scoop of ice by himself.

"Safe." Cullen watched as the agent relaxed slowly, nodding his head tiredly.

"Good," Booth murmured tiredly, "that's good." The painkillers were tugging at him seductively, dragging him slowly back to the painless realms of sleep.

"Booth?" Cullen leaned forward to pluck the ice chips from lax fingers

"Hm?"

"We do have one…issue, that should be addressed as quickly as possible."

Cloudy brown eyes tortuously dragged themselves open, struggling to refocus at the telling tone of his superior's voice.

Cullen cleared his throat. "You remember the Grayson case?" The eyes slid close again, a wrinkle in the skin between them as their owner laboriously churned through memories.

For a moment, Cullen thought the agent had fallen back asleep, but the dazed eyes finally pulled open again, a sigh escaped Booth's battered chest. "Still waiting on my funeral?" His boss had to strain to hear the words.

"Yeah, well we were thinking that we'd give it to him a little early."

"Lacking faith in the hospital staff, sir?"

Cullen chuckled softly. "I'll admit, it's an unconventional strategy, Booth, but this shooting has already gotten a lot of press exposure, and we think we should use it to our advantage."

The agent gave a weak nod, energy quickly fading.

"The thing is," Cullen hurried on, loath to broach the topic but knowing it had to be done, "we have to make this convincing, so for the next two weeks you are going to have to play possum."

Booth said nothing, but his eyes seemed to be focused on Cullen (or at least on a point pretty close to his right shoulder), so the man hurried on. "You will of course be able to notify any necessary people to prevent unneeded pain. Try to keep the list limited to immediate family."

"Parker," the man immediately rasped, "and Bones," he added quickly, closing his eyes. Cullen waited as Booth gave the issue a little more thought, before adding Rebecca, his parents, and his brother to the list.

"I'll take care of it," his superior promised. Then he took a deep breath and cleared his throat, sound slightly embarrassed. "Booth?"

"Sir?" Was there a hint of impatience in that croak?

"Your squints…they were very…uh, _adamant_…about staying on the premise until they had news of your condition. For obvious security reasons, we couldn't tell _all_ of them what was happening, nor could we keep them hanging around if people are to believe you died in surgery five hours ago." He swallowed, noticing how the other man's eyes suddenly seemed _very_ alert, a look of suspicion beginning to flash at the hedging tone of Cullen's voice.

"Normally under a delicate situation like this, no official announcement would be made until the people on your list were notified, but for security reasons-"

"Temperance." It wasn't a question so much as a harsh demand.

Despite his best efforts, Cullen flushed. "Ah, yes well, as Dr. Brennan is not an immediate family member…"

"Bones _is_ family," Booth ground out dangerously, but Cullen continued on as if he had not been interrupted.

"…and since it was impossible to separate her from the rest of the group without raising suspicions, she was unfortunately included in the group of people that were informed prematurely of your…er…death."

The room went completely still for a moment, and then Cullen tried his damnedest not to flinch, the twitch in Booth's jaw his only warning to the imminent explosion that could be heard echoing down the hospital corridor.

"She _WHAT_?!"

* * *

Half an hour later, the cell phone on Brennan's desk began to vibrate softly. Standing up and walking around her desk, she picked it up carefully, reading the number on the flashing screen. It wasn't familiar. Setting aside the report she was determinedly working on with a sigh, she flipped the phone open and brought it up to her ear.

"Brennan."

"Bones?"

Brennan's breath caught, a painful jolt shooting up her spine. Distantly, she was aware of her hand going limp, of a weight slipping through her numb fingers, of the clatter of plastic as the phone skittered across the floor. Eyes wide, she stood frozen in place as a crack slowly began to creep across the barrier of numbness she had been meticulously constructing for the past six hours.

Suddenly, her shield shattered and searing heat replaced the cold numbness in her chest. Every muscle in her body trembled as she dove to the floor, snatching up the cell phone and its rectangular battery that had popped out when it hit the ground. She fumbled with the battery, finally fitting it into the back of the phone with a snap before flipping the thing open and hitting the power button.

Fighting to control her trembling fingers, Brennan hastily navigated to the received calls menu and highlighted the first number. '_Please_,' she begged silently, unsure of whom she was talking to or even what she was asking for, '_**Please**_.'

The phone rang once, twice…

"Hello?" The voice on the other end croaked anxiously, its rough timbre slamming into her like the waves of the tide. She wet her lips, trying to speak but unable to form the words. "Hello?" The voice asked again, worry apparent despite its coarseness.

Brennan's chest tightened, and she couldn't seem to breathe. Finally she forced her mouth to form the word, to _say_ it. She spoke in a whisper, terrified that once she said his name out loud this illusion would shatter.

"Booth?"

There was a sharp exhale of relief from the other end. "Bones! Thank God." His voice washed over her, sending warm waves of relief crashing over her. Sinking to her knees, Brennan felt the tears she had been holding back all day rush forward, her control instantly crumbling.

Hearing her quiet sobs across the phone, the concern returned to Booth's voice. "Bones? Are you ok?" She couldn't answer; the tears just came faster. The voice softened, somehow managing to sound soothing despite its gravelly texture. "Shh, just breathe, Bones. It's fine, everything is fine."

"Y-you…T-They-" she started, the words tripping over themselves as the jumbled horror of the past few hours came rushing back.

"Shh, it's ok. I'm fine."

"They said you were _dead_," She breathed, terrified to finally speak the words that had haunted her since the hospital waiting room.

"I'm _not_." He said the words slowly and clearly, trying to cut through her disbelief and fear. "I'm fine, Bones. I'm not going anywhere."

The tears stopped, a new emotion taking hold as Brennan suddenly found herself lurching to her feet, her knuckles white as they gripped the phone tightly. "_Why_!" She choked out.

"What-?"

"Why would they do that?! Why would they tell us that? Tell _me_ that?" The fury rose in her chest, and despite her best efforts the tears came again, this time leaving hot and angry trails down her face.

There was silence on the other end of the phone, but she thought she heard a relieved sigh from her partner as he heard her reach a more familiar emotion. Taking a slightly ragged-sounding breath, Booth continued to speak in his reassuring tone.

"It was a mistake, Bones, it was all a mistake." She allowed his words to sink in, grasping desperately to find the logic behind this horrifying situation. "They were never supposed to announce my death until the people on the list were notified, but you guys wouldn't leave and they couldn't tell _all_ of you..."

"The list?" She asked in a numb voice, trying not to betray the confusion and anger warring inside her.

"The list of people I wanted to tell I was alive. You were on it, Bones."

"I was on it," she echoed softly, trying to draw comfort from the words.

"Yes, you were. You were at the top."

"The top?" She asked in the same quiet, unsure voice.

He let out a single, short laugh, and she could almost see him wince as it jarred his abused body. "Well, right below Parker," he admitted sheepishly, and she could hear the telltale smile tug at his mouth. "He had you by _this_ much."

Somewhere deep in her chest, a knot loosened just slightly. She didn't even need to picture him holding his fingers an inch apart, giving her his charm smile. The sound of his voice caused a small, answering smile to pull at her own mouth, and she finally let out the breath she seemed to have been holding for hours.

The partners stayed silent for a moment, enjoying the simple presence of one another across the phone. The comfortable moment was broken by the creak of a mattress followed by a soft hiss of pain. Brennan's heart pulled as she saw the pain on his face through her mind's eye.

"I'm coming over." She said firmly, her voice determined.

Now that he was sure she was all right, the urgency in Booth's voice was gone, replaced by exhaustion. "They probably won't let you in," he sighed, the coarseness of his voice causing her own throat to hurt.

"I don't care, I'm coming."

She could almost hear his tired smile. "Bones, they are trying to flush out a criminal who is supposed to think I'm dead. You can't be seen showing up to the hospital for no reason, it will look suspicious."

She shook her head stubbornly. "I don't-"

"I _know_ you don't care," he interrupted, finishing her sentence. "But the FBI does: they aren't going to let you anywhere near me right now."

The knot was beginning to tighten again, and Brennan had to fight down the mixture of panic and bile that was rising in her throat. She needed to see him, _needed_ to make sure that it had all been a mistake.

"Booth…"

"I know Bones." And she could tell by the tone of his voice that he _did_ know, that he felt the same way. He sighed in frustration. "Just…just talk to Cullen, he'll give you the details."

She wanted to argue, but the tiredness in his voice stopped her. He couldn't have been out of surgery for more than a few hours; this conversation was taking too much out of him.

"Ok," she said softly, trying to push her desperation aside.

He let out a shaky breath, pain creeping into his voice as his body protested the delay of its next round of painkillers. "It'll be over soon, I promise."

Her heart breaking, she knew it was time for _her_ to comfort _him_. "Shh," she soothed, voice uncharacteristically gentle. "Just sleep, Booth. Give the phone to Cullen, I'll take care of it."

"Bye Bones," he mumbled, the morphine the nurse had just given him beginning to kick in.

As she listened to the crackle of the phone as it was handed over to Cullen, Brennan narrowed her eyes determinedly. '_I'll take care of it_,' she repeated silently.

* * *

Booth scrunched his eyes against the bright light coming through the hospital window, moving to raise his arm over his face. Realizing too late that he chose the wrong arm, he let out a groan as his shoulder protested angrily.

Taking a deep breath to calm his screaming nerves, he carefully raised his _right_ arm, letting out a sigh as it shielded his sensitive eyes from the sunlight.

"Ah, Agent Booth, you're awake."

"Hn," he grumbled irritably, not bothering to remove the arm. His morphine was wearing off, and his chest was beginning to throb again.

The nurse chuckled at his child-like behavior. "Hang on a moment," she said sympathetically, crossing the room to draw the blinds closed.

"Thanks," he mumbled as the room became blissfully dim, and he cautiously lowered his arm.

The redhead smiled cheerfully at him, the dimple in her right cheek somehow adding sincerity to the expression. "My name is Kate, do you remember?"

"Kate," he repeated, eyebrows furrowing with effort. Getting that sinking feeling in his gut, he looked slightly sheepish. "I accused of being an alien this morning, didn't I?"

"From the Pie Nebula, if I recall correctly," she said with a grin, looking at him with a mischievous glint in her eye. "But in your defense, I _was_ changing your bandages, and I suppose anyone could mistake a cotton swab of antiseptic as a 'intergalactic torture device', right?"

Booth groaned, covering his face in humiliation.

"Oh, don't worry about it hun, I've heard worse," she soothed, somehow managing to laugh at him and still act sympathetic at the same time. "Fortunately for me, we had to take you off the morphine drip for a while so they could transport you. But you'll be back on it before you know it."

"Transport me?"

"That's right," Cullen's voice broke into the conversation as he entered the room. "You're supposed to be dead, remember? Dead people don't take up beds in the hospital."

"I still do not agree with this decision," another voice chimed in, and Booth craned his neck to see the doctor follow Cullen into the room before closing the door firmly behind them. "He has only been out of surgery for nine hours; he should be in bed and on a constant morphine drip for at least another day."

"He _will_ be in bed and on morphine, just not here," Cullen said crossly, his voice making it apparent to Booth that this wasn't the first…or even the fifth…time he'd had this argument. "We have reason to believe that the hospital is being watched. We need to remove him to a more secure location before our man realizes something's up."

The doctor _crossed_ his arms stubbornly. "May I remind you that while the FBI devised this _brilliant_ plan of faking Agent Booth's death, my team of surgeons had a hard time keeping it from becoming a reality. His wounds are serious, and cannot be left unattended yet. He needs to be under medical supervision!"

"And, as I've said, he _will_ be. Arrangements have been made; he'll be under constant supervision, and a doctor will check in on him regularly."

The doctor scowled as he handed over the release forms, lacking the authority to stand up to a Deputy Director of the FBI. "Standardized FBI quarters is not the kind of place he needs right now. Agent Booth needs a quiet, relaxed, comfortable environment to recuperate in. Not to mention how uncomfortable traveling is going to be for him." Turning his eyes to Cullen, the doctor tried to appeal one last time. "He really should stay here."

Cullen ignored the angry man before him, scribbling his signature at the bottom of the sheets. "Booth is a big boy, he can handle a little discomfort until we get him resettled." Thrusting the papers into the doctor's hands, Cullen smiled smugly. "And, for your information, we are _not_ going to an FBI building."

"…going home?" Booth murmured from the bed, the throbbing pain making it hard to concentrate on the conversation.

"Not your house," Cullen admitted, patting the agent's good shoulder comfortingly. He really _did_ care about his people, and had a soft spot for Booth. He was a good man, and Cullen despised seeing him get hurt. "It'll be under surveillance as well. But you're going someplace just as good. Don't worry, it's all been taken care of."

* * *

_Hm, I wonder where he could **possibily** be headed...stay tuned for more fluff, but first click the button below and tell me what you think!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

_Welcome to chapter 2! This story actually only took me a weekend to write (while procrastinating against studying for finals...). I was just blowing off some creative steam, but I ended up deciding I liked it enough to go ahead an post it. Anyway, let the fluff commence (and I hope you enjoy)!

* * *

_

"Just give her some space, Jack," Angela warned in a low voice. She and Hodgins walked slowly towards Brennan's office. "She's going to be spooked and fragile, so don't push it."

"Ange, you've been telling me this spiel for the past forty minutes, I think I've got it." The man smiled at his girlfriend, trying to reassure her. Angela had been fretting over Brennan ever since they left the hospital, and the worry he saw swirling in her dark eyes pulled at his heartstrings.

It wasn't as if Hodgins wasn't concerned for his boss as well; anyone with eyes could have seen the debilitating effect the news of Booth's death had had on the woman. He had stood helpless in the waiting room, watching the strongest woman he had ever met slowly collapse in on herself, the light dying from her eyes.

But Angela was Dr. Brennan's best friend, and was determined to pull the woman through this. Hodgins wasn't sure that was possible, but he knew that if anyone could save Dr. Brennan, it was Angela.

As they drew closer to Brennan's door, Angela tensed anxiously, and Hodgins reached to hold her hand supportively. Smiling weakly in thanks, Angela let out a steadying breath.

"She will probably be refusing to acknowledge it or grieve. For the first couple days, we are going to let her lose herself in the work; it's just how she deals. But by Wednesday we are going to have to drag her out, kicking and screaming."

"Until then, offer quiet support and stay out of her way," Hodgins recited obediently, knowing it was fruitless to point out that Angela had told him this five times already.

"Right," Angela nodded approvingly. "She's probably not even in the office. If I know Brennan, she'll be somewhere in Limbo, up to her elbows in unidentified bones with no intention of leaving the Jeffersonian for the next month."

"Hi guys." Angela and Hodgins whirled to face a hurried looking Dr. Brennan, surprise on their faces. Slinging a bag of files over one shoulder and her purse over the other, she gave them a small but sincere smile. "I'll see you guys later; I'm taking the next three weeks off."

"You…_what_?" Angela asked, dumbfounded.

Brennan walked over to her computer, snatching her flash drive and car keys off the desk. "I know what you're going to say Ange: I've been through a big ordeal, suffered a loss, and should take some time to deal with it. So I'm taking a three-week sabbatical to sort things out. Cam can handle things while I'm gone. I will see you soon."

Running through the office in a flurry of movement, she stuffed a few more things into her pockets, wrapped Angela into a quick hug, and then was gone.

The two people remaining in her office slowly turned to look at one another, silence hanging between them.

"…the hell?" Angela murmured, a look of shock on her face.

Hodgins chucked at her expression. "Looks like you don't know Dr. Brennan as well as you thought."

Shaking herself back to reality, Angela rolled her eyes. "_Please_ Hodgy, there are three things I know in this world: men, sex, and the emotional handicaps of Dr. Temperance Brennan." She turned her gaze to follow the retreating figure of her friend's back. "Something is up."

* * *

Booth gritted his teeth as the car suddenly braked, coming to a jarring stop. The pain in his shoulder was reaching an unbearable level.

"Sorry," the young agent beside him apologized for the twentieth time, running a nervous hand through his hair. "Are you alright, Agent Booth? You look really pale."

Booth decided to not dignify that question with a verbal response. Why spend the energy on drawing in a painful breath to speak when a simple rude hand gesture worked just as efficiently?

"Right," the kid muttered, gently easing the car forward again. "It shouldn't be long now," he added, unsure if he was trying to comfort the injured agent next to him or just himself.

Booth ignored him, closing his eyes and leaning his forehead against the cool glass of the passenger window. An hour: he had been on the car ride from Hell for an _hour_. His morphine was gone, his chest and shoulder were on fire, and if Skippy over here slammed on the breaks _one_ more time, the FBI was going to have to report another agent dead.

And this time they wouldn't even have to lie.

Dimly, he was aware of the car slowing down (_gently_ thank God) before turning into a driveway. For the first time in forty minutes, Booth pulled himself out of his pain-induced haze and tried to find his bearings.

When his eyes fell on the house in front of him, he felt of a pang of surprise run through him. Crinkling his eyes in confusion, he wondered if perhaps there _was_ still a little morphine in his system.

"Uh, Johnson? Are you sure you got the right address?"

The kid pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket, studied it carefully, glanced at the house, and then looked back at his passenger. "Yes, sir, this is the place. Is something wrong?"

"No its just…this is Dr. Brennan's house."

"Yes, sir." The younger agent watched him apprehensively. "I thought you knew, Agent Booth. Cullen said Dr. Brennan argued with him on the phone for almost an hour. Said that if he thought he could keep her away from her partner for three weeks he must be suffering from a cranial homptoma-"

"_Hematoma_," Booth corrected absentmindedly, mind trying absorb this information around the pain in his shoulder.

"Sure, whatever. Anyway, once she found out you had to be moved, she insisted that you be brought here. I think she took a sabbatical so she could stay with you until the funeral."

"But…" stunned, Booth broke off as the door to the garage opened, and Johnson pulled the car inside. Once the garage door shut behind them, the door leading into the house burst open, and the woman he had been aching to see came barreling through it.

Johnson stepped out of the car to extend polite greetings, but Brennan flew by him, jumping into the abandoned driver's seat and rejoicing at the site of her agent.

Yes, _her_ agent.

She had planned on hugging him, on throwing herself into the safety and reassurance of his arms and letting his very essence seep into her, but now that she was here, sitting only inches away from the man who had taken a bullet for her, Brennan found that she couldn't move.

He just looked so…fragile. The face was tired, the posture was slumped in pain, and the eyes…She blinked. The rest of this body didn't belong to the partner she knew. It was broken and battered, weak and in pain. But in those eyes that she loved and missed so much, she finally found Booth.

He was staring at her intensely, drinking in the site of her almost as eagerly as she was drinking in him. Suddenly, her hesitation seemed pointless, even silly. He grinned tiredly and opened his arms to her. "Please don't make me come over there," he begged softly, only half-joking.

Answering his grin with smile of her own, she threw herself forward into his warm, and very _alive_, embrace. She reveled in the warmth of his arms. '_Warm, __**alive**__ arms_,' she reassured herself with a shaky breath, inhaling his comforting scent.

"You're here," she whispered into his chest, clinging tightly to her proof that it really had all been a big nightmare. She wasn't alone. Booth was still with her.

He tightened his hold of her, grunting softly as shoulder took mild abuse but refusing to let go when she started to pull back anxiously. Burying his nose in her hair, he closed his eyes and took comfort in her soothing presence. "I'm here," he agreed.

Outside the car, Johnson cleared his throat awkwardly, clearly uncomfortable with the blatant display of affection before him. Releasing Brennan with a grimace of pain, Booth glared at the younger agent over her shoulder. "I'm her partner. She thought I was dead. You got a problem?"

Johnson snapped his eyes straight ahead, avoiding the two people in the car. "N-no sir," he hastily assured them. "Its just that I am under orders to get you into bed immediately."

Booth raised his eyebrow incredulously, and Johnson flushed at the innuendo. "No! I-I mean-"

But Booth couldn't hold the look, and his lip began to twitch upward. "Relax, kid," he said with a small chuckle, wincing as it shook his shoulder, "you're going to give yourself an ulcer." Looking back to Bones, he noticed her watching him worriedly. "What?"

"You look terrible," she stated in her abrupt manner.

He scowled at his partner. "Why does everyone keep insisting on telling me that?"

As usual, she tuned out his whining and turned to Johnson. "We need to get him inside."

"Yes ma'am," the young man agreed, looking relieved that _someone_ was following orders.

Working together, Brennan and Johnson carefully worked Booth out of the passenger door. Johnson wrapped Booth's uninjured arm around his neck and took most of his weight, ignoring the older agent's weak protests. Brennan hovered awkwardly for a moment, wanting to help but afraid to touch her partner's injured side. Finally, she settled for putting one hand gently on his back, the other helping him hold his injured arm to this chest.

Despite his best efforts, Booth could not suppress his pained grunts and hisses as his abused body was turned and jarred. Every time a noise escaped his lips, Brennan glanced at him, guilt lining her worried face.

By the time they reached the door, his sweating face was blanched with pain and effort. Finally making it inside, Brennan led the way to the bedroom, releasing her grip on Booth so the other agent could carefully navigate him sideways through the doorway. "Put him down here, he can have the bed," she instructed to Johnson, resuming her supportive position as soon as they were clear of the door.

On any other occasion Booth would have argued the matter. It was her house, her bed, and he was a _gentleman_, damnit. Where was the chivalry? But right now, unbearable pain seared through his shoulder, and its cries for morphine drowned out all other coherent thoughts. For once, he surrendered control of the situation to Bones' capable hands.

As he sank into the mattress, he blessed whatever merciful God had provided him with the soft haven of sheets, comforters, and pillows. Slumping sideways into a mountain of pillows, he groaned in a mixture of pain and relief, his feet still dangling off the side of the bed.

Vaguely, he was aware of Bones ordering Johnson to go get his bags from the car. And morphine, she called after the retreating figure. Closing his eyes heavily, Booth silently agreed with her. '_Yes God, __**please**__ get the morphine_."

Cool hands gently brushed the hair off his forehead before retreating. He frowned at the loss of contact, but relaxed as he felt his shoes being gently tugged off and set aside. Gently, ever so gently, his legs were lifted and swung up onto the mattress and settled beneath the deliciously soft sheets. Unable to find the energy to even open his eyes, Booth allowed Bones to gently turn his body so that he was lying down, his back supported by pillows.

After fussing with the blankets and arranging his limp, unresponsive arms above them, the careful hands returned to his face. Bones stroked his cheek gently, trying to gain his attention without disturbing what little comfort his body had found through exhaustion. "Booth, I've got the morphine right here," she said softly, "As soon as we setup the IV you can sleep."

His only response was to tiredly offer her his arm, turning it so the inside faced upwards. Smiling slightly, she placed his arm in her lap and comfortingly ran her hand up and down it several times before inserting the IV. Watching his face carefully as she pushed the needle in, Brennan was relieved to see he didn't even flinch.

Several minutes after the morphine began to drip into his veins, the creases in Booth's forehead smoothed out, and his breathing became slow and regular. Keeping his arm in her lap, Brennan studied his face carefully, reassuring herself that he was here, alive, and safe. Never taking her eyes off her partner, she spoke to Johnson.

"You can go, I've got things under control."

The younger agent nodded, aware that she couldn't see him but knowing she really didn't care. "The doctor will check in tomorrow. Call if you need anything." She nodded in return, eyes never leaving Booth's face.

* * *

The next few hours passed in a drug-induced blur for Booth. He was aware of Bones closing the curtains and blinds in the room, plunging them into soothing darkness. He woke up several times to the pleasant feel of her hands gently stroking his hair, touching his cheek, or tracing the veins leading to the IV in his arm. `

Ordinarily, this constant contact would have been strange, even awkward, but Booth understood his partner's need to touch him, to assure herself he was not an illusion. He craved proof of her presence just as strongly, and each time he woke to her gentle touches, he drifted back to sleep quickly, a feeling of relief pulling in his chest.

Occasionally, the twinges of pain in his shoulder would begin to nag at his exhausted mind, pulling him from sleep and demanding attention. However, by the time he opened his eyes, Bones was always already at the IV, pumping in a fresh dose of morphine before settling back in at his side, his own personal guardian angel. He had never seen her act so protectively, and he slipped back into sleep with an amused smile on his face.

When he was finally able to drag his eyes open long enough to form a coherent thought, a weak predawn light was peaking through the cracks of the curtains. Surprised, he realized that he must have slept through the entire afternoon and night, and morning was quickly arriving.

Cautiously twisting his neck so as not to disturb his temperamental shoulder, Booth began to take in his surroundings. His memories of the previous day were hazy and distorted from pain and morphine, and he blinked as he scanned the room.

'_Bones' room_,' he noted, not surprised by the discovery as some memories trickled back. '_Nice, Seeley, take the woman's bed and force her to sleep on the couch_.'

Someone to his side sighed contentedly, and Booth resisted the urge to jump, if only to save his shoulder from unnecessary pain. Glancing to his left, he felt an eyebrow rise at the sight of one Temperance Brennan fast asleep beside him. '_Or not…_'

She was curled up on the bed, still wearing the clothes she had been in yesterday. A wall of pillows (good Lord, how could one woman possibly _need_ this many pillows for her bed?!) had been carefully constructed between them, probably to keep her from accidentally bumping his shoulder during the night. However, as if still needing to convince herself that he was truly there, one of Bones' hands had crept across the barrier, and now rested gently on his stomach.

Closing his eyes, Booth leaned back into the pillows, a content sight escaping his lips as he savored the early morning peace. For the first time in twenty-four hours, he didn't feel like he needed to be anywhere, or do anything. His shoulder throbbed dully, but the current dose of morphine was still working beautifully, taking the unbearable edge off the pain. The bed was soft and carried the soothing scent of his partner, and Bones' hand was reassuringly warm against his skin.

Turning his head slightly, Booth studied said woman's face. Sleep had erased the lines of worry and guilt that he had seen floating above him all night, and replaced them with a serene look of relief. Feeling a pang in his chest that had nothing to do with a bullet hole or surgery, he frowned slightly.

He had promised her. Promised he wouldn't ever betray or abandon her. Promised he wouldn't leave her alone ever again. He _hated_ breaking promises. He tried to ignore the images his mind was supplying to him: the horror and betrayal she must have felt when they told her he had died in surgery. The guilt of knowing he had died taking a bullet that was meant for her.

His eyes narrowed. He knew that guilt; had been on the other side of it before. He knew how it could gnaw at you, submerging you in self-hate and doubt. But he had also learned that in life, situations like that were impossible to avoid: people would always protect the ones they cared about, regardless of the consequences.

He'd do it again.

Closing his eyes, Booth settled back into the bed and let out another sigh, forcing these troubling thoughts to the side for now. He allowed his drugged mind to drift aimlessly, sifting through memories of past injuries and times spent bedridden. He thought about Parker and Rebecca (he should call them later today, Rebecca was worried sick). He scanned the room lazily, and picked gently at the bandage on his chest, wondering how long it would take before it started itching.

Finally, he let his eyes settle back on the woman lying next to him, contemplating her seriously. His partner…his Bones…he smiled as he remembered the first time he had accidentally called her 'his Bones', how it had embarrassed and pleased him at the same time. He thought about what Johnson had said, how she had argued with Cullen and demanded Booth be brought to her house immediately. Shaking his head, he smiled softly at her sleeping face. She really was something else…

He wasn't sure how long he sat like that, watching her sleep as his mind wondered. Eventually, he became aware that the angle of the sun had increased as it crept through the curtains. A glance at the nightstand clock told him it was 7:36 a.m., and when he looked back to Bones, a pair of sleepy blue eyes blinked back owlishly at him.

He flashed her his charm smile, knowing how much it annoyed her. "Hey."

Slowly reclaiming her hand (Booth felt a pang of disappointment at the loss of contact), she raised herself onto an elbow, drinking in the sight of him thoroughly. Her eyes scanning him from head to toe, and once she was positive that he was still there and not in any immediate danger, she allowed a smile to tug at her own lips. "Hey."

Sitting the rest of the way up, Bones stretched and tried to smooth out her knotted hair. Finally giving up, she pulled out the hair scrunchii and began to bully the tangles into a fresh ponytail. "Did you sleep ok?"

"Yeah." His voice was quiet and a little distant, even though his eyes followed her carefully. As usual, Booth found his body reacting strongly to the drugs in its system, making it hard to focus intently on anything for long. Stringing together a good conversation was proving to be difficult.

Bones didn't seem to mind (she had dealt with drugged-Booth on numerous occasions). Standing up, she walked around the bed and sat down on the edge next to him, feeling his face with the back of her hand. "You feel cool," she murmured thoughtfully, speaking more to herself than to him, "but the doctor said to take you temperature regularly for the next few days. He doesn't want your shoulder to get infected."

"Temperature every eight hours, lots of fluids, keep it clean and dry, showers ok, baths bad," Booth rattled off casually, ticking off fingers as he listed post-op directions. "Did I miss anything?"

Bones blinked at him, her look of surprise carrying hints of sadness. "You've done this before," she noted softly. He shrugged his good shoulder, offering her a disarming smile.

"Once or twice," he admitted, refusing to meet the eyes he knew would have "the look". The same look he got every time he slipped up and mentioned something ugly from his past. The same look he had received when she had seen his x-rays after the fridge incident.

Clearing her throat to dispell the heavy moment, Bones stood quickly and brought her hands together with a decisive clap. "Alright, I'll go get the thermometer and something for you to drink. The doctor should be calling soon…" she trailed off, her to-do list no doubt continuing silently inside her head. She glanced down and shot him a quick smile. "Can I get you anything? Are you hungry, yet?"

He pulled a face at the thought of food. "No, I'm fine Bones, thanks."

"Alright," she turned to leave the room, but hesitated at the doorway. Turning back to face him, she spoke softly. "Booth?"

"Mm?"

"I'm glad you're here." She held his gaze for a moment, and he understood the full weight of her statement without needing further explanation. Then she turned quickly and hurried out of the room, leaving a sleepy, smiling Booth in her wake.

"Me too, Bones, me too."

* * *

Brennan resisted the urge to peek in on the sleeping figure in her bedroom. Outside of the quick trips to fetch water from the kitchen or the thermometer from the bathroom, she hadn't left his side all morning, settling resolutely into a chair next to the bed. However, around noon, Booth had kicked her out, insisting that she take a shower, find something to eat, and do something productive.

She had flared up indignantly, ready for a fight, but he had played dirty, claiming that he couldn't sleep with her staring at him all the time. Logically, Brennan knew full well that he was lying: he had slept through all of yesterday in her watchful presence without complaint, and he had shown no signs of being annoyed with her behavior all morning. However, faced with his haggard appearance and claims that she was depriving him of rest, she found she was unable to argue. She had left with a look of petulance fixed firmly in place.

Now, one hot shower and two bowls of oatmeal later, she stood at the kitchen counter, staring longingly at her bedroom door. She knew she was being unreasonable; Booth was fine. She had watched him carefully for the past sixteen hours, touching him constantly to prove he was real. Her brain knew her partner was alive and well, but for some reason her heart was having trouble believing it.

'_Don't be ridiculous_,' she chided herself, '_he is fine. If you go in there, he'll just tease you about being overprotective and then kick you out again_.' Resisting the urge to pout again, she almost jumped when the phone suddenly rang. Snatching it off the counter, she brought it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Dr. Brennan?" A male voice crackled across the line.

"Yes, this is she."

"This is Dr. Preston, calling about Agent Booth."

"Oh, we've been expecting your call." Secretly pleased with her newly acquired excuse, she strolled over to the bedroom, bumping open the door and leaning casually against the doorframe. Her eyebrows shot to her hairline when she found a pale, wobbly Booth halfway between the bed and the door. "What are you doing!" She demanded incredulously.

"Uh…I'm sorry if my call was later than planned," the voice in her ear apologized uncomfortably, "The office has been very busy today-"

"Sorry, not you," she interrupted hastily, fixing Booth with a reproachful glare.

'Bathroom,' he mouthed silently in explanation, and she rolled her eyes before coming to his side, slipping his good arm around her neck and taking some of his weight.

'Doctor,' she mouthed back, pointing to the phone held between her cheek and her shoulder before ignoring his protests and helping him towards the door.

He pulled a face. "I hate doctors," he mumbled, his warm breath tickling her ear as he finally surrendered and leaned into her for support. "They're also poking you."

She shushed him impatiently, turning her attention back to the phone as they walked slowly down the hall. "Are you still the, Dr. Preston?"

"Is now a bad time?"

"No, no, now is fine," she assured him, delivering Booth safely to the bathroom and closing the door behind him to give him some privacy. "We've been looking forward to hearing from you..."

Her voice faded as she walked away from the door, and Booth sighed in relief as he leaned against the wall. For a second he had thought she was going to try to follow him straight to the toilet. With a groan, he allowed thoughts of his overprotective partner to swirl slowly through the cloud in his head.

It wasn't that he didn't appreciate Bones' efforts; he really was very touched by her concern for him. But she had been tiptoeing around him all morning, bringing him drinks, speaking in hushed tones, and staring at him with those big baby-blues of hers that swam with guilt. It was beginning to drive him crazy. He didn't need another nurse coddling him; he needed his feisty, bossy, socially stunted partner. He _needed_ his best friend.

But how was he supposed to drag Bones out of her new Florence Nightingale persona without offending her? He shuddered at the thought of her wrath, knowing full well how scary she could be when she was riled up. Then again…despite himself, Booth felt a grin pull at his face…pushing Bones' buttons could be kinda…

'_Arousing_,' the traitorous voice in the back of his head supplied.

'_**Fun**_,' he amended firmly, blaming the painkiller-induced fog in his head.

Shaking his head clear it of confusing internal arguments, Booth returned to the task at hand. Fighting the dizziness caused be the morphine, he took a few more shaky steps and tried to make the room stop spinning. Damn his excessive susceptibleness to medicinal side effects; he was a grown man for crying out loud!

When he finally swung the bathroom door open again Bones was waiting patiently on the other side, her phone call with the good doctor evidently over. "Sorry," he said automatically, not really sure what he was apologizing for. For making her wait? For being a burden? For causing her worry?

But she just shook her head dismissively before taking his arm and securing it firmly back around her neck. He resisted. "I can walk Bones, you don't need carry me." Even as the complaint left his mouth, he felt oddly torn between nursing his male ego and maintaining the delicious way her curves were pressing into his side.

"I am hardly carrying you," she argued back sternly, holding his arm tightly in place. "I am simply offering an extra point of balance to compensate for the temporary shift in your center of gravity that your injury has caused."

"I…what?" He blinked fuzzily, cloudy mind getting lost somewhere between 'compensate' and 'temporary shift'. Damn her and her fancy three-syllable words.

She sighed, but continued on with her indisputable stream of logic. "Besides, morphine alone has the common side effect of inhibiting an individual's ability to balance correctly." _Not to mention their ability to think coherently_, she added silently. "I don't want you to fall."

He slowly blinked at her again.

Another sigh of exasperation. "Ready to get back to bed?"

"Ha," he sniggered, "this is not the circumstance I'm used to hearing that question under," he joked weakly, words slightly slurred. God he loved morphine…

She raised her eyes in amusement, marveling inwardly at how loose one dose of painkillers could make this man's lips. She couldn't resist a jibe, "I thought you were threatened by openly discussing the topic of innuendos and sexual intercourse?"

His grin widened cheekily at her feisty reply, eyes half-lidded as they glanced down at her in mock surprise. "Why Bones, _there_ you are! Where have you been hiding all day?" Then after a moment of silence, he muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like '…am _not_ threatened…'

She rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the task at hand, but that knot in her stomach loosened just a little more. "Be careful, here, watch your step," she warned, steering him carefully through the bedroom door, but he stubbornly resisted again.

"I don't want to go back in there. I'm sick of sitting in bed."

"Booth, you were shot thirty-six hours ago. You need to rest."

"I'm not tired." His half-lidded eyes said otherwise.

"I highly doubt that, considering your exceptional sensitivity to the side effects of painkillers, and the physical trauma to your clavicle bone and pectoral muscles."

He blinked…twice. "Alright, _now_ I'm tired," he grumbled, shuffling resignedly towards the bed again. She shook her head at how predictable he could be.

Brennan carefully helped her partner towards the bed, being carefully to not jar his shoulder. She didn't let her hand linger on his firm shoulder a fraction of second longer than necessary when he tilted slightly to one side, and she _definitely_ did not catch herself staring at an outline of the well-defined muscles beneath the seat of his baggy gray sweats as he bent over to pour himself beneath the sheets.

She _did_ pull the blankets firmly around him, ignoring his snide, slurred comments about being 'tucked in'. She _did_ allow her fingers to whisper softly down his face, gently guiding his heavy eyelids closed. And, after his breathing became slow and regular, she _might_ have leaned down to press a soft kiss against his forehead.

Maybe.

_Fin_.

* * *

_And that's all I've got folks...I could probably take it a little farther, but I think I like this ending (short, sweet, and cute). Opinions, suggestions, critiques? I'd love to hear what you guys think!_


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